


if an ant can make a flower bloom

by bittersweetgum



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Flowers, Fluff, I'm Bad At Tagging, Lots of flowers, M/M, a lot of fluff, because seventeen, meanie, sickness n stuff, there are probably going to be a ton of ships, theres not really angst but theres kinda angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 18:47:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10882776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittersweetgum/pseuds/bittersweetgum
Summary: There’s nothing special about this story. Honestly, there are so many stories out there better than mine. So many unique and moving stories. But mine is the same as any.It’s a love story.No different.Except for one thing. One person, really, who is different from every other in this universe. There will never be another. One person who helped me feel, helped me see, helped me understand.This story isn’t new or invigorating, but there’s one reason to read it.Wonwoo.





	if an ant can make a flower bloom

There’s nothing special about this story. Honestly, there are so many stories out there better than mine. So many unique and moving stories. But mine is the same as any. 

It’s a love story. 

No different. 

Except for one thing. One person, really, who is different from every other in this universe. There will never be another. One person who helped me feel, helped me see, helped me understand. 

This story isn’t new or invigorating, but there’s one reason to read it. 

 

Wonwoo. 

 

 

I’ve fallen into a rhythm. Not like the ones in music. Not the ones that you nod your head to, or the ones that make your eyes heavy. I’ve fallen into a ugly, ragged rhythm that makes you beg for silence. 

I wake up, the gross, groggy feeling not leaving after I scrub my face three times. I wake up, and I walk to school. The same school that I was admitted to as one of the top students. Funny how no matter where you are, you can always go down. 

I go to all my classes, where I avoid looks from disappointed teachers who say, “I know you’re better than this.” 

And I walk home, trying not to think of much. 

I sit down at my desk and pull out my books from my bag. I stare at them, knowing that I need to do the homework. I need to do it. But I can’t bring myself to. 

So I stand up and move to the more used side of the room and play video games. 

I play until I can’t keep my eyes open, and then I climb into bed, and go to sleep. 

Every day. 

There’s not much more to me, really. 

 

Oh, and I forgot to tell you. I can’t feel anything, from head to toe. 

  
  


 

I walked down the halls of the school. They were white and pristine and hard to look at when the sun shone on them. 

The final bell had rung a half an hour ago, but for some reason, I decided to sit in the library and scroll past useless posts in social media from people I couldn’t care about. 

Honestly, I was procrastinating going home, even if it was for just an hour. My brother came home today, and I really didn’t feel like seeing more disappointed faces than the daily dose. 

The halls were quiet to the point where my steps echoed and I could hear a door opening far in the distance. 

I reached the end of the hallway, and I pushed open the door that lead outside to the courtyard garden. I squinted my eyes as the overly bright sun streamed through the doors. I closed the door behind me and was faced with the wonder that was the school courtyard’s garden. 

I wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, but I loved the garden more than anywhere else in the school. I had found this passageway about a month or so ago. It’s faster to walk home this way, and even though the flowers and hedges are always perfectly trimmed, there’s never anyone here. 

Also, I love flowers. As a kid, I always tried to grow flowers and plants. But I learned very quickly that I did not have a very green thumb. No matter how hard I tried, they always seemed to wither away in my hands. Since then, I’ve decided to admire how pretty flowers were from afar. 

But today, the flowers seemed impressively beautiful. Maybe it was the way the sun hit the pedals or the way they swayed ever-so-slightly in the warm breeze that swept through the air. 

I smiled at the sight and began walking home. Days like this, they made my rhythm not feel so bad. 

So I wove through the green hedges, appreciating all of the new flowers that had recently bloomed. I loved spring. It made me feel like time was moving, not stuck in some everlasting loop. 

And then I saw it. The most beautiful flower I had ever seen before. Hidden between a group of fern and a bush, it peeked through as if shy to show its beauty. 

It was a rosy hue, almost white in the sun’s glare. It’s pedals flared out from the center, but there were so many of them that they weren’t fully opened yet. I could smell the sweet fragrance it gave off as I leaned down to see it better. I carefully pushed the ferns and the bush away from the flower’s long stem. It was so beautiful. Tall and proud when not hidden like a secret shrine.

“I wonder what you’re called,” I muttered to myself, smiling as the flower seemed to wave back and forth in slow, happy motions. 

But then I was something moving in the flower. I squinted and leaned closer, to realize that an ant was crawling on the pedals of the flower. Oddly intrigued, I watched the ant as it crawled through holes and over pedals and as it headed to the center the flower seemed to shake. 

Confused, I looked closer to notice it tremble every other second, like something was shaking it in time. Then I realized, there was a banging noise ringing through the peaceful sound of leaves rustling and wind blowing. 

Well, not banging necessarily, more like beating. A rhythm. It was deep and low, shaking the ground very softly.

I stood, tearing my eyes off the flower, and over the hedges, I saw a shed. Maybe a storage house? 

The noise was most definitely not coming from the school. 

Leaving the flower behind, I walked slowly towards the shed, walking along the path as if pulled by a string. As I got closer, the beating became less lonely, and was accompanied by sounds of voices and instruments intertwining into a soft, yet powerful melody.

The path suddenly turned away from the noise, so I carefully pushed my way through the last row of bushes that separated me from the shed, which I now saw was a small wooden building, painted a soft yellow, with writing and hand prints covering most of the back wall. I wondered aimlessly what kind of people were in the building. 

I slowly walked around the building to find a door, to find the building was bigger than expected. The music was almost clearly audible now, and I could hear the sounds of pianos and guitars drifting from inside. 

And then I found the front door, and honestly, I can't tell you what came over me, but as soon as I got my hand on the doorknob, I thrust the door open. 

And the music was perfectly clear… for a moment. 

And there were countless pairs of eyes on me as the music came to an abrupt halt. 


End file.
